Simple Pleasures
by idearlylovealaugh
Summary: Where better to celebrate a special occasion than the fanciest restaurant in town? Written for the 2017 Romione Fluff Fest on tumblr.


_**A/N: originally written for the 2017 Romione Fluff Fest on tumblr with the prompt "Diagon Alley, date night". Certainly not by JKR.**_

The atmosphere at _Le Cochon Peint_ justified its reputation as the most fashionable and hard-to-come-by reservation in Diagon Alley. On a Saturday night in June almost every table was occupied by elegantly dressed witches and wizards, and a number of those heads turned as a young, attractive couple was shown to a table in nearly the exact center of the restaurant. The man, tall and strikingly ginger, pushed in the chair of his petite, bushy-haired companion in an unobtrusive display of chivalry before taking his seat amid the buzz of interested chatter from diners seated nearby.

"Quite the place," Ron remarked, glancing around as the napkin in front of him sailed elegantly into the air, unfolded itself from it's complicated swan design and drifted neatly onto his lap.

"It's lovely," Hermione agreed, smiling at him warmly. "I'm so glad we finally made it here. I've been hearing about it for months!"

"Seems like the right kind of place for an anniversary dinner," he reasoned. "These posh drinks are alright, really," he added thoughtfully, swirling around a ruby-coloured concoction he had ordered at the swanky bar in the restaurant's lobby.

"That bartender thought you were quite alright, too, I think," Hermione replied slyly.

"She was just being friendly," Ron scoffed, though his ears pinked ever-so-slightly. "And she got a lot friendlier after she heard me give my name to the bloke at the front," he added skeptically.

"The maître d'," Hermione supplied automatically.

Ron smiled knowingly at her as he shook his head. "Right."

"Besides, I doubt she needed to hear your name to know who you are," she conjectured.

"The red hair I'll grant you, but these robes are brand-new!" he joked. His eyes glowed with warmth as he watched her laugh. "Have I told you how bloody gorgeous you look tonight?"

She flushed, feeling slightly absurd to be so pleased. "Yes, but you also told me that last week after I went twelve rounds with Crookshanks and the bath, so I'm not sure I trust your judgement."

"Hmmmm, I stand by that statement," he mused, regarding her appraisingly.

"You're ridiculous - I was drenched!" Hermione cried in amusement, remembering the soaked and disheveled state she had been in.

"Exactly," he replied, mischief in his eyes. "I..."

"Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, what a delight!"

A booming voice cut him off as a florid man in ostentatious golden robes planted himself beside their table. Hermione glanced around self-consciously as he heartily shook Ron's hand and feigned an elaborate kiss on her own. Every head in the restaurant seemed to have swiveled in their direction and was watching the scene with interest. "I have the honor to be the proprietor of _Le Cochon Peint_ and please allow me to say that we are so, _so_ gratified to have you dine with us this evening, and we hope that _everything_ is to your express liking. If either of you have a particular appetite tonight, please permit me to communicate it to the chef. He will be _more_ than happy to cater to your every whim."

Hermione, still caught off guard, demurred. "Oh no, I'm sure the regular menu is…"

"We want to make _sure_ we have the pleasure of your patronage again. Perhaps we could have a quick snap for our Wall of Fame?"

A slender, nimble man appeared to materialize out of thin air by his elbow and before they were fully aware of what was happening, they were enveloped in a explosive puff of purple smoke, the cameraman deftly slipping away with what was assuredly a picture of a supremely dumbstruck Ron and Hermione.

"Fantastic," the manager beamed. "And when you return, perhaps you would be inclined to bring a friend? A very _close_ and _well-known_ friend?" he finished with an insinuating smile. And with one more effusive " _Fantastic_!" he was gone in a swirl of shimmering fabric.

Ron and Hermione could only gape at each other for a moment, before Ron set his jaw angrily.

"That was …"

"Ridiculous," she supplied, shielding her burning face with the leather-bound menu.

"That's not what I was going to say," Ron grumbled under his breath, still glaring in the direction the manager had retreated.

"Good thing Harry _isn't_ with us, can you imagine what that man would've done?" she giggled.

"Yeah, probably would've dropped on all fours and started licking his boots," Ron snorted.

"He was fairly horrid," Hermione allowed, "but the food is supposed to be delicious." She felt the heat leaving her cheeks as she put the encounter behind them. "Let's just ignore it and enjoy ourselves. We haven't been out in ages!"

Ron's expression was still rather sour, but it lifted as a smart and blessedly discreet server came by to take their order. Moments later a small, round tray zoomed neatly to their table, hovering in midair as Ron took the two cocktails it was bearing and placed them on the table. They sipped their drinks as the tray soared back to the bar, banking a wide turn around a woman carrying a flaming entrée. Hermione was about to ask Ron what he thought he'd order when she noticed him looking down at something on the table with a frown on his face.

"Is everything alright?" she asked, concerned.

Ron looked up at her with wide eyes. "Switch me places," he whispered urgently, glancing quickly over her shoulder. She turned to see what he had been looking at and he stood, pushing out his chair with a loud scrape.

She rose almost automatically, and he quickly ushered her around to the other side of the table, pushing in what was previously his chair as she sat.

"What was that about?" she asked, bemused, as he took her seat across from him.

"The bartender put her floo address on my napkin," he muttered.

Hermione laughed. "I told you she fancied you!" she exclaimed. She leant to the side and was just able to catch a glimpse of the sleek blonde mixing drinks at the bar, ignoring Ron's muted squawking not to look. "I'm beginning to think you have a special fondness for barkeeps," she teased as she straightened up. "First Madame Rosmerta, and now this…"

"Very funny." He was quiet for a moment, before looking at her intently. "Has it really been so long since I've taken you out?"

" Oh Ron, I wasn't complaining!" she reassured him. "Honestly, we've both been so busy."

"Still…"

"It was really thoughtful of you to make the reservation, you know," she put in, smiling to herself as he scoffed. He had always been so terrible at accepting compliments, a trait she found adorable and exasperating in equal measure. "And even more so because you made sure that they paid their kitchen elves fair wages."

He snorted even as he deflected her praise. "Well, you know people still try to get out of it if they can."

"It's outrageous that we haven't been able to pass that statute yet," she frowned earnestly. "Former house elves have desirable, marketable skills, but unless we... I'm sorry," she caught herself in exasperation. "I don't want to talk about work all night," she added, sliding her hand across the table toward him.

Ron grinned as he covered her small hand and with his own. "No mind. It doesn't bother me, y'know." He laughed as she raised a skeptical eyebrow, lacing their fingers together. "I always like it when you get all worked up."

"Hmm, so _that's_ why you're always trying to drive me mad."

"Her _mi_ one," he said in a deeply wounded tone. "Just _trying_?"

Her laughing retort was drowned out by a piercing, reedy voice accosting her from across the room.

"Ms. Granger-Weasley! Ms. Granger-Weasley! Oh, how lucky to run into you here!"

The startled look Hermione exchanged with Ron confirmed that the balding, bespectacled man bearing down on them was just as unknown to him.

"I'm sorry, Mr…. er…"

"Blunderman, Walter Blunderman," he supplied. Hermione watched in disbelief as the man spotted a vacant chair at a neighboring table and drew it up between them. "It really is too lucky to have met you here, because I have this fantastic - well, revolutionary, really - idea, and what's astonishing, truly astonishing, is how few people in the Ministry have been receptive to it."

Hermione cringed internally as he continued to expound upon his pet project, completely oblivious to his audience's mounting vexation. The man seemed capable of sustaining an astonishing flow of speech as she waited in vain for him to take a breath.

"...and with _your_ name attached to it, it could hardly fail to succeed, wouldn't you agree?" the man finally finished, looking between the two of them.

Sensing that Ron's response was going to be decidedly south of proper, Hermione cut in quickly. "Mr. Blunderman, I appreciate your commitment to the concept, but my husband and I are here as private citizens and… oh look, our first course is here!" Hermione exclaimed, silently thanking the kitchen staff for their unknowingly impeccable timing. "I'm sure you'd be happy to continue this conversation on Monday during office hours, when I can give it the attention it so clearly deserves," she added sweetly, leaving very little room for disagreement.

After a regrettable assurance to set up the first available appointment and a glance at Ron's stony face, Mr. Blunderman beat a hasty retreat. With the table to themselves once more, Hermione exhaled.

"I'm sorry about that."

"Why are you sorry? It's him as should be apologizing," Ron snorted. "Bloody nerve." He looked down at their plates and sighed. "Bad timing, but I have to nip to the loo really quick, ok?"

"Of course!"

"You don't have to wait for me to start," he added as he slid out of his chair and set off for the restroom.

Despite Ron's urging, she didn't feel as if it'd be right to start without him, so she contented herself with studying the plates that had be set in front of them. The food was elegantly and artfully arranged (not that there was very _much_ of it, but still). Tasteful string music played low in the background, but now that she was alone she couldn't help hearing her and Ron's names repeated often in the conversations floating around her. She was uncomfortably aware of eyes on her as she took a sip of her drink and then folded her hands in her lap. It didn't seem safe to look anywhere, as every face she glanced at seemed to be looking directly at her.

She was wishing that they had been placed at a more secluded table (although she had a strong suspicion that they were intentionally _not_ ) when it occurred to her that Ron was taking much longer in the men's room than she could ever remember. Hoping he wasn't feeling unwell, she turned slightly to look in the direction of the restrooms and was startled to see Ron emerge from the corridor, ears blazing red and a mortified expression on his face.

"Ron, what…!"

Ron seemed to struggle for words as he retook his seat. "Three women - _ambushed_ me outside of the men's!" he whispered agitatedly, looking around. "They wanted my autograph, and when I told them - nicely, y'know - that I was just out for a quiet night and turned to leave, one reached around and grabbed my… my…" He widened his eyes and jerked his head toward his lap expressively.

Hermione's burgeoning amusement was immediately supplanted by a surge of white-hot fury. "Which woman?" she hissed, looking around. "Point her out!"

"I don't see her! And I don't bloody want to," he added emphatically. He raked a hand through his hair, blowing out a frustrated breath. "You know what? Let's get out of here."

"And go home?" she asked as she rose, somewhat crestfallen. Though the restaurant had shaped up to be a bit of a disaster - and as much as she loved spending time with Ron in their flat - she had been looking forward to their night out together and was loathe for it to end so quickly.

"No, not home," he replied, digging into his pocket and dishing a pile of shining coins onto the crisp linen. "That should more than cover it," he said. "C'mon."

She took his hand, grabbing her wrap from the back of her chair before letting him lead her back through the artful lighting and tasteful music and into the warm June night.

XXXXXX

"This is _amazing_ ," Hermione raved. "This is honestly the best chippy I've ever had."

Ron hummed his agreement, grunting with pleasure as he crunched into another gorgeous piece of fried fish. He had draped his robes over the back of the bench and rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt to the elbow. Hermione passed him a paper napkin and he grinned a thank-you as he took it with oil-slick fingers. She gazed out at the river as she bit into another steaming hot chip, enjoying the light breeze and twinkling lights of the city.

"How did you ever know about this place?" she asked idly.

"Your dad, actually."

Her eyes snapped to him in surprise, but he was rooting around in the newspaper for another chip. "My dad? But I'm quite sure I've never been here. When did you ever come here with my father?"

Ron took his time swallowing before he replied. "Day we got married. So, three years ago exactly."

Hermione's jaw dropped. "You're kidding!"

"Nope," he answered with a smack of his lips. Realizing that she wasn't going to be satisfied without the full story, he continued. "It was sometime that morning - blokes don't take that long to get ready, you know? So there was rather a lot of time just sitting around and thinking."

"Not always the best situation for you," she teased affectionately.

"Alright, alright," he laughed. "But... yeah, actually. And people were coming in and out - my brothers, and Harry and my dad, but there was one moment where they must've been out helping with stuff, and your dad came in. And he took one look at me and I think he could tell that I was in a rough way with nerves."

"What?! You said you never were!"

"I said I wasn't nervous about marrying _you_ ," he clarified. "I knew I wanted to marry you for yonks. But I was nervous as hell about you marrying _me_."

She peered up at him through narrowed eyes. "That's very sneaky," she commented.

"Well either way, I'm telling you now," he replied mildly. "I was really bloody nervous about messing up the vows, or the rings... or of being a rubbishy husband generally," he continued seriously. "You know, I always want you to have the best, and there were just a lot of ways I was afraid I wouldn't be able to give that to you."

"Ron…"

"Anyway, your dad saw me looking like I was about to Keep for my first Gryffindor match and he took me here. Said there was nothing to settle a bloke's stomach like greasy fish and chips, and that this was the best place in London to do it. I reckon he was right on both counts. And we talked a bit, about life and marriage and stuff like that."

"I can't believe you've never told me!" Hermione exclaimed, shaking her head in wonder. The mental image of Ron and her father sat on this same bench, having a heartfelt conversation in their formalwear, was making her feel decidedly emotional.

"Well, it was a bit personal," he said good-humouredly. He paused. "But it was the moment I really felt like I'd be a part of your family. I mean, your dad asked me to apparate us to London, and you know they don't like traveling that way. It took some trust. I just felt better, after that." He looked down at her intently. "And then when I saw you coming down the aisle, I wasn't worried about being a good husband, because I knew I'd do anything on earth to make you happy."

There was no way she could resist kissing him at that point, and all the fishy grease in the world wasn't going to stop her. Her fingers twisted into the front of his button-up as she pulled him closer, savoring the warmth of his lips and the feeling of his large hand cradling the back of her head. She pressed her forehead to his for a moment as they broke apart, thanking the universe that she had this man to share her life with.

The night was warm and pleasant, but she snuggled into his side all the same.

"I think we should come here for every anniversary," she hummed contentedly.

Ron wrapped his arm more tightly around her, resting his chin on her curls. "Well, I was going to take you to Paris next year, but if you insist…"

She laughed for what felt like the hundredth time that evening. There was no one that could make her feel as free and happy as Ron, in any situation - no matter how ridiculous. Free and happy and safe and loved. It was amazing, when she really stopped to think about it, and it deserved to be celebrated every chance they got.

"You know, it's almost a shame that we decided not to exchange gifts," she remarked, casually stroking her hand up and down his toned forearm.

"Why's that?"

"Because the traditional gift for a third anniversary is leather."

Against her will, the corners of her mouth pulled up of their own accord as she sensed his eyes boring into her. She finally gave in and looked up at him, seeing his mischievous grin mirror her own.

"I think we can work something out."


End file.
